


As She Did Love

by Unfair_Verona



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, Mild Smut, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-20 18:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unfair_Verona/pseuds/Unfair_Verona
Summary: John Noble had been warned all his life about the Fair Folk, how they would ensnare him and take him away. But when he meets the ethereal Fairy Queen, he fails to heed those warnings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Here is another little story that I've been working on, I hope that you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think! :)

_I met a lady in the meads,  
Full beautiful--a faery's child,  
Her hair was long, her foot was light,  
And her eyes were wild_

**~John Keats**

 

John Noble lived in a very superstitious part of the country, where tales of witchcraft still abounded, sick livestock and curdled milk were caused by hexes, and it was believed that the Fair Folk still dwelt in the hills. His family was both respected and somewhat feared; his late grandfather had been one of the cunning folk, blessed with an ability to heal, and to curse. Wilfred had taught both John and his sister Donna some of the cunning ways. Donna was a midwife with an uncanny knowledge of plants, and John himself had a gift for healing animals. He possessed a strong connection to the natural world, at times he could feel the trees and stones speaking. He spent hours wandering outdoors, staring at the sky, slipping into daydreams. 

His favorite stories that his grandfather told were the ones about the Good Neighbors, the shining, otherworldly people who lived in the fairy mounds that were scattered all over the countryside. Wilf swore that he’d had encounters with such creatures, spoke of being taken to the Court of the Fairy Queen, who was so beautiful that his eyes would tear up at the recollection. “But you must be careful,” he would warn John and Donna. “Time moves differently in the land of Fairy. What seems like mere hours there, is years above. If you’re not careful, you can be returned to find that a decade or more has passed.”

John had always felt a shiver travel up his spine at this part of the tale, even as Donna would roll her eyes. His sister believed in the healing powers of plants and even charms, but fairies seemed a step too far. Yet, he was eternally enchanted by the idea, and the image of a woman with skin like moonlight, hair like silken spiderwebs, and lips like rose petals was forever fixed in his mind, always accompanied by a deep and inexplicable longing in his chest. He’d always felt out of place in the village, like he belonged in another world. 

 

Midsummer was approaching, now. It was the time of the year when the Fair Folk were the most active. There was a sort of magic in the air, John could tell, it rushed along the leaves and tree trunks, whispered over the grass and wove itself through the early evening shadows. He swore that when he walked quietly he could hear faint laughter and singing. On the night before Midsummer’s Eve, John made his way home through the glen. He was tired, having spent many hours helping to deliver a foal. It had been a difficult birth, but both mother and baby were now doing well. He passed along the gently sloping ground, humming along with the rushing of a nearby stream. As he went by a grove of trees, he could see the swell of a large fairy mound, sprinkled with clover and other tiny flowers. A strange tugging sensation drew him closer, there came that sound like tinkling bells, soft singing, the melody sad and ancient and sweet, beckoning. John’s head swam pleasantly, and a sweet, heady warmth enveloped him. The trees and grass seemed to fade, until all he could hear was the unearthly sounds—he was filled with such longing that it nearly brought tears to his eyes. Some warning jolted him back to the moment, the memory of his grandfather’s words swept through his mind and he shook his head, trying to clear it. He quickly hurried home.

“You’ve been gone awhile,” Donna announced as John arrived back at the little cottage that they shared. She ladled some soup into a bowl and handed it to him. “Off daydreaming, I suppose.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. 

“I took the long way, through the glen. It’s so beautiful this time of the year.”

His sister gave a wistful grin. “You know what grandad would say, you’d better watch it, or the Fairy Queen will steal you away to her kingdom.”

“I can’t say I’d honestly mind it,” he muttered.

“Oh, John,” Donna put a hand on his arm and sat down beside him at the table. “Are you really that unhappy?”

“No,” he sighed in reply. “I’ve just never been able to shake the feeling that I belong somewhere else.”

“You’ve always been different. Grandad used to say that you had a gift, a second sight. Perhaps you were a changeling, switched at birth. It would explain a lot,” she joked.

It was true. John hadn’t looked like anyone in his family, with his deep brown eyes and unruly spikes of dark hair. His features, bone structure, everything was different, spoke to a distinct Otherness that he had always felt. 

“You’ll find your place,” added Donna, patting his hand.

 

John didn’t remember getting into bed that night, but he had a very strange dream. He was outdoors, walking past the ring of trees in the little valley. Soft lights were glistening in the air, hanging like stars. Faint, clear music carried on the breeze, and also hints of laughter that seemed delicate and feminine. The light grew brighter, white with blue at the edges; it pulled John forward towards it, and he moved as if hypnotized. There was a scent all around, like flowers and fruit—sweet, but with a mysterious, musky edge. His head swam pleasantly, and he allowed himself to be drawn to the edge of the copse of trees. Out of the shimmering light stepped the most beautiful creature that John had ever seen. His heart began to beat wildly. She had soft, pale skin touched with a pinkish hue, and a head full of wavy golden-yellow hair. Her eyes were an alluring amber shade, warm and deep, and John felt a curious stirring, a heat low in his belly as she looked at him. Her lush lips slowly pulled into a smile, and he saw the hint of tongue peeking out from between her teeth. The look was both playful and overwhelmingly seductive. His legs shook. The woman held out her hand. 

Some rational part of John wanted to resist, it clanged with a familiar warning. She was most certainly from the Otherworld, and it would be wise for him to turn back now. But, he reasoned, this was merely a dream. So what would be the harm? He placed his hand in hers. 

The beautiful apparition stood still for a moment, just looking at him, locking their eyes. She regarded him with a kind of familiarity, and also deep affection. Finally, she spoke. “John,” she said softly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Who are you?” he asked wonderingly.

She smiled again. “Oh, you know.”

The light, gauzy gown that she wore slipped halfway from her shoulders, falling open until it revealed the tops of her breasts. John's mouth grew dry, his heart thumped out a galloping, unsteady rhythm. She gave him an encouraging look, pulling him closer to her. Another shimmying movement, and then the gown slipped all the way off and landed in the grass at her feet. 

Breath caught in his throat. The rest of the world—the trees and the night, all thoughts of his home or his family—vanished, and he could only see the ethereal beauty, naked before him. They were close enough now that he could feel the glow radiating from her skin, as if she were a star. The smell of fruit was stronger now, fruit and mysterious summer midnight air, hung heavily with secrets. 

“John,” she said again, then brought his hand down between her legs. She was warm, silky like flower petals, wet with dew. She was smooth there, unlike any woman he’d touched before. His cock ached now, pressing against the front of his breeches. His fingers glided through her folds, instinctively finding that little bud he knew would bring her pleasure. He rubbed her very gently, and her head leaned back, her eyes falling closed. A soft moan escaped her full lips. John was lost in the feeling of her, he could barely remember his own name, all he knew was scent and touch and the Otherworld glow that was enveloping them both. He wanted more than anything only to make her happy, to stay here, always, to get down on his knees and worship her. He slipped a finger into her opening, was welcomed by the heated velvet cavern of her body. 

The woman sighed again, trembled, arched her back as he added another and began to move them inside of her, stroking in and out. She was radiant, her pale skin glimmering, her breasts soft and round, nipples hard; she rocked slowly on him, gripping his wrist, making sounds of pleasure that increased, building in pitch and volume. John felt her inner walls clench and tighten around him, then a flood of wetness coated his fingers as her body shook with release, her head lolling back further, golden hair spilling across her eyes. That was when his own climax overtook him, his ignored, tortured cock spending into his pants. He didn’t even think to be embarrassed or ashamed, the world was spinning strangely. He withdrew his fingers from her, somewhat reluctantly, then with a primal sort of need brought them to his mouth to suck off the sweet taste of her, a taste that made his eyes roll in his head, made him dizzy with want. 

She smiled brightly, seeming sated and pleased, but John noticed that there were tears glistening in her eyes, and some small sadness lingered there. And then he was pulled away, the woods and the light slowly vanishing—her, too, though he reached for her, she faded, still smiling that curious, half-sad smile.

 

Morning light touched John’s face and woke him. He blinked and looked around at his bedroom. His mind felt still coated in dreams, and the scent of fruit and flowers still clung to his body. He remembered golden hair and amber eyes, sweet nectar on his tongue. It had been a dream, after all—a very _exciting_ dream, he noticed with a groan as he regarded the sticky mess in his clothes. That hadn’t happened in years. Ah, that woman! She’d been so beautiful, even the very thought of her caused a burst of heat to flood through him, that tug of terrible desire that made everything else fall away. John shook his head to clear it. He had work to do, the Midsummer festivities were beginning today, and he’d promised to help Donna. As he swung his legs out of bed, though, he noticed something strange. His bare feet were covered in dirt, as if he’d been walking outdoors in his sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! I'd really hoped I could get this chapter out sooner, but once again life got in the way. Here is the next bit, please let me know what you think! You have all been so lovely and supportive! :)

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,  
Alone and palely loitering?  
The sedge has withered from the lake,  
And no birds sing 

~ **John Keats**

 

It was a beautiful day. The sun shone down brightly over the meadows and valley, glinting off of the green leaves, seeming to make everything sparkle. There was still an odd, almost drugged haze at the corners of John’s mind; it made colors seem brighter, caused the world to pulse with a unique aura. The plants and trees now seemed more ensouled than ever, reaching out to him, laughing and speaking. 

There were festivities planned all day. Their superstitious little village still clung to the old traditions, and always celebrated with great gusto. Donna and her friend Clara were baking tarts and breads and cakes, and Donna was also bringing carafes of her famous elderberry wine. Wilfred had passed down the recipe to her some years ago, apparently it had been in their family for several generations. 

People gathered in the village square, and soon all the local children were running about with wreaths of flowers in their hair, laughing and shrieking. John smiled as he watched them, then found himself staring off into the distance, his gaze drawn back towards the glen. A flash went through his mind, the woman from his dream, with her golden hair and longing eyes. A sadness tugged at the center of him, and he suddenly felt alone, even here amongst the crowd of his neighbors. He realized that there was somewhere else that he wanted to be, but that place didn’t have a name, and he didn’t know where to find it, only that it was reaching for him.

“Oi, John, quit daydreaming and help us with these loaves!” Donna called insistently, startling him from his trance. John blinked and turned around to see his sister and Clara struggling with several large baskets of warm bread. He hurried over. 

“Off in fairyland, all the time, this one,” Donna remarked to the smaller dark-haired woman beside her. Clara laughed. “Well, it is Midsummer, after all,” she said, handing John a basket. “Take care not to go wandering at dusk,” she warned him with a mischievous smile on her small pixie face.

John smiled faintly. “I won’t,” he assured her, though in the back of his mind he longed for the gloaming of twilight, when the veil between the worlds would grow thinnest, when he could wander out to the grove of trees and see a woman with skin like moonlight. He was suddenly hungry for a love that he’d never had, and that hunger sank itself into the very marrow of his bones. He felt almost wild with it, wanting to run from the village and its people and go out to the woods like some wild green man and make his home among the hedgerows. 

 

The day was getting on, the traditions were observed, many houses were cleaned and blessed with protection, and the bonfires were lit. There was always something so bittersweet about Midsummer to John. It was the halfway point of the year, the sun would be at its strongest—but then, ever so subtly, darkness would creep in, the balance would tip and though the weather would still be hot and fair, a shift would have occurred and a faint chill would come little by little, indicating the waning of the year, reminding him of the wheel ever turning. Life and death.

 

 

Late afternoon soon blazed its light, yellow-gold, and again John was struck, and the color reminded him of the woman’s hair, and something inside of him continued to ache, sharper now. He tried to drown it away with some of the elderberry wine and distract himself by making conversation with Donna and Clara. Clara’s friends Amelia and Rory were also there. Amelia had a talent for crafting little dolls and puppets, which she gave out to the children. She was also an excellent storyteller, and the little ones were always demanding a tale from her. 

People began to pair off a bit, Clara slipped away with her sweetheart, a lanky fellow named Matthew, who seemed to be all cheekbones and forehead, and Rory and Amelia were holding hands, smiling at each other every few minutes. Standing off by himself, John sighed and took another sip of wine. He felt Donna’s hand on his shoulder. “Look,” she said, pointing across the square at a lovely woman with soft brown skin and beautiful eyes, “there’s Martha. Why don’t you go and say hello? You know she fancies you. And you both have so much in common.”

John _had_ known that. Martha was a respected healer and often worked alongside Donna. She was a brilliant woman, and they’d often had lively discussions about herbalism and different techniques. While he certainly cared for her as a friend, he didn’t share her romantic feelings. “Naah, it’s alright,” he mumbled around another sip of wine.

“What about Reinette, then?” she pressed, nodding towards a blonde with porcelain skin and an almost regal bearing, who was talking to one of the musicians, laughing and batting her eyelashes. Reinette’s family were French, and had been displaced for some reason or another. John snorted, thinking that Donna must be desperate to even suggest that; his sister had often spoke of the woman with disdain, finding her to be stuck-up and snooty. Reinette had indeed flirted with him, but she wasn’t the type to settle down, she was always surrounded by a gaggle of admirers, and while she was actually very educated and intelligent, there was still a vapidity about her that had always been slightly off-putting. 

“I’m fine, Donna,” John assured his sister. “Why don’t you worry about your own love life?”

“Ha! Don’t make me laugh. You know I’m perfectly resigned to being an old maid. I hope I get a wart on my nose. I shall terrify the villagers.”

“It’s good to have goals, I suppose,” John spoke with a lopsided smile. Across the way, Reinette leaned closer to the besotted lute player, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Donna tutted. “Would you look at that? What a bloody _liberty_!” she muttered darkly. “Ah, you’re better off without her.” She thumped him on the shoulder again. “But don’t sulk about. Try to enjoy the rest of the day.” 

As his sister walked off, John wandered away from the square, following the little worn path until he reached the ancient oak tree that marked the border of the valley. The sun was now beginning to sink down, finally succumbing. A shiver ghosted up his spine and he could feel the shifting in the earth, the tipping point, the darkness stretching out. The remains of summer would pass more quickly now, he knew, soon it would be harvest time, and then after scarcely a blink, the autumn would swallow them in red and gold and cold nights. 

John stood quietly and let all of this wash over him, listening to the dusk, and he suddenly felt very old, though he didn’t know why, as if he’d been traveling for hundreds of years, lonely and hungry and watching the fading of everything. From behind him came the faint sounds of the village, the smell of the bonfires. And then it faded and up ahead the sinking sun and encroaching shadows beckoned, the smell of fruit and flowers. Laughter like music and slender, reaching fingers. He moved forward.


End file.
